


Messy

by southsideglitter



Series: Bad Kids [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Jealousy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsideglitter/pseuds/southsideglitter
Summary: Sweet Pea's gone for the summer and without him, you and Fangs are a mess. You try to distract yourselves with drink, drugs, fighting, and each other, but none of it's working. The gaps where Sweet Pea should be still feel big enough to fall through.





	Messy

**Author's Note:**

> If you've not read Snakes & Hearts, you only really need to know that you, Sweets and Fangs had an epic threesome the night before Pea had to leave for the summer, and now everyone's confused, Sweet Pea's gone and these poor babies are suffering...

For the first twenty-four hours after he goes, you can still pretend. That you’ll be seeing them later, or the next day, that they’ll be blowing up your phone any minute with insults, requests for food or homework help, compliments dressed up as offensive lines. That everything’s how it’s supposed to be.

 

But every time you move, there’s a physical reminder of how the three of you spent your last night together. Of how they made you melt and moan and feel like you were coming apart under their hands. You’re sore, and it’s bittersweet. You don’t want the bruises and lovebites they gave you to fade, because then where will you be? You want to keep those aches because they remind you, with every movement, that they were here, with you. You worry that as those physical souvenirs fade, the memory will too. You worry that it’ll feel more surreal, like it could have all been only an X-rated dream, that you’ll wonder whether it even happened and have nothing, no evidence, to prove that what you remember was the truth.

 

A few days afterwards, Cheryl and Toni drag you out to the Wyrm. You don’t want to go, but you promised Sweets you wouldn’t wallow. Still, his absence hurts. You keep expecting to see him out of the corner of your eye, hustling at the pool table, getting the shots in with his winnings, half-listening to Jughead’s latest dumbass scheme while playing pinball, play-fighting with Fangs, asking Cheryl and Toni inappropriate questions about scissoring and hiding behind you when their responses get violent. Fangs is nowhere to be seen either and that makes it harder still. Your Serpent sisters try to distract you, but the only thing that even gets you anywhere close to smiling are Toni’s signature neon green Toxic Topaz cocktails. Cheryl keeps them coming, comforting you as best she can, and by the time the bar’s closing you’re in no fit state to go home alone.

 

They take you back to yours and tuck you into bed. Their soft little chuckles cut through you as they make you take painkillers and drink two pints of water. You’re happy for them, of course you are. No one deserves love more. But you’re still sad and sorry for yourself, and if you end up confessing some of what happened just so that it’s shared with someone, they’re not shocked.

“To be perfectly frank, I assumed your were already in dalliances with them both,” Cheryl says, smoothing the sheets. “After ma cherie, they’re the most aesthetically pleasing Southsiders by far, and the only ones worthy of such a woman as yourself.”

“Yeah, babe,” Toni puts in. “If you weren’t already doing it, it was only a matter of time. They love you, you love them. They’re buff as fuck, you’re insanely hot. Bound to happen one day, wasn’t it?”

They’re acting like they get it, but they don’t. The room’s spinning too much for you to explain properly, how much it feels like there’s a weight in your stomach that won’t dissolve no matter how many cocktails you down. You mumble some nonsense as they say goodnight, blur in and out of restless, drunken sleep.

 

Later on, at one of those hours when it’s so late it’s early, you hear the purr of an engine outside. You toss and turn, sure you’re imagining it, that your imagination’s just taunting you now, until there’s the scrabbling of a key in your door. It’s Fangs, it must be, using the spare you gave him ages ago in case of emergencies. He stumbles in, trying to tiptoe through the detritus on your bedroom floor. Then there’s the muffled thud of his jacket and jeans being discarded.

“What are you doing?” you croak as he crawls into your bed.

“Nothing,” he mutters back, and his whiskey-slurred voice sounds as sad and tired as yours. “It’s okay. Go to sleep.” He wraps his arms around you, tight, comforts you when you sob and sob and sob. Eventually, you sleep, deeper and longer than you have since that night.

  
He’s gone when you wake up and you wonder whether you imagined that too. In the bathroom mirror, you tell your reflection she needs to get her shit together. When the mirror fogs up from the shower, you see a heart drawn in the condensation, and a squiggle that might be a snake. Getting ready, you find your fanciest moisturiser, almost all used up. When you mooch through to the kitchen, you realise your fridge has been ransacked too. You curse him, but it’s a relief. Maybe you’re not going mad after all. But the gaps where Sweets should be still feel big enough to fall through.

 

That week, you go through the motions, forcing yourself to school and to work. Fangs shows up late or not at all. By Friday, you’re exhausted, but you can feel that itch, the siren call of going out and getting fucked up. You turn the stereo on to get ready, and realise that it’s still on whatever playlist Fangs found and put on that night. Grinding bass and low guttural vocals that summon up their hands on your skin. You sit on the floor and listen to it right the way through, reliving the heat, the feel of them inside you, the way they looked at you and how you loved them, then, and how it simultaneously feels like a lifetime ago and like it’s still happening, your skin electric with longing. You let it play to the end and get dressed slowly, in silence. You’re going out.

 

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Toni calls, when you walk into the Wyrm. You give her the middle finger and a wink as you take a seat at the bar. No cocktails tonight, you promised your reflection that earlier, but Toni makes you your favourite drink and you sip it slowly, taking in who’s there and what’s happening.

 

Fangs eventually turns up, smacking a kiss on your cheek but seeming distracted.

“You good?” he asks, as he grabs the bar stool next to yours

You sip your drink. “Yeah.”

“Where you been?”

“Serpent business,” he says, wild-eyed, and when he downs the shot Toni slides across, you see his knuckles are grazed.

“You okay, Fogarty?”

His jaw clenches, then he grins. “Course, babe. Just in the mood for mayhem.”

He signals Toni for another shot, downs that one too, and then says he’ll catch you in a bit, heading over to another corner of the bar.

You turn back to see Cheryl and Topaz trading glances but saying nothing. You grit your teeth, swirl ice in your glass. You don’t think about Sweet Pea, honest, not once.

 

Until you hear a disturbance from the other side of the bar. It’s Fangs, facing off with a Ghoulie who shouldn’t even be in here, over some pool table bet. Two older Serpents restrain Fangs before he can get a hand to his knife, but in the chaos he manages to grab a glass and hurl it. It misses the Ghoulie by a millimetre, exploding against a wall. Tiny diamond shards erupt and so do the assembled Serpents, and within seconds the entire thing has escalated.

 

Toni grabs you and Cheryl and pulls you behind the bar.

“Shouldn’t we help?”

“FP will sort it.”

And he does, wading into the fray and somehow calming things down by hurling a combination of insults and incorrect snake trivia at everyone. The Ghoulies are thrown out by the scruffs of their necks and Fangs is bloodied but unrepentant, blazing with reckless fury as he storms towards the bathrooms for tissue for his nose.

FP glares at you as you emerge from behind the bar. “Go get your man in line.”

You hold your hands up. “He’s not mine.”

“Isn’t he?”

“No.”

“Well, you’re all he’s got now. He gets messy, it’s on you.”

“No way. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Them’s the breaks, kiddo. No Serpent stands alone.” He stalks off to supervise the clear-up.

“You’d better do it,” Toni says.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, heading after Fangs.

 

“What are you playing at, Fogarty?” You stand in behind him, arms crossed, as he blots his face over the sinks. Definitely not thinking about what happened when the three of you were in here, not about being pressed between them both, with their hands on your neck, in your hair.

“Give me a break, Y/N. I’m fine.”

“Topaz told me you’ve been in fights every night this week. You need to knock it off. You’re gonna get hurt.”

“No one can hurt me,” he quips, plastering on a cocky smile. “Bulletproof, remember?”

“Stop it.”

“No.”

“Asshole.”

He scowls at you in the mirror.

“We’re supposed to be looking out for each other,” you say, not quite mentioning Sweets and the way you promised him you’d have each other’s backs while he was gone, but you can tell from the way Fangs’ frown deepens that he’s understood anyway.

“I know,” he says, turning back to face you. “I am looking out for you. Stay away from me and you won’t get hurt.”

“What the fuck, Fogarty?” you demand, drawing back from him. “Was that a threat?”

“I won’t hurt you. As if. I meant, keep your distance and you won’t get caught up in anything bad.”

“And what bad stuff are you planning?”

He smooths his hair back. “I never plan the bad stuff, babe. It just happens.” He’s putting his cool voice on again and even though it’s usually on the endearing side of annoying, right now it just goes through you.

“You do know you’re being a dick?” you ask, getting up in his face and realising for the first time how big and blown-out his pupils are. You assumed it was adrenaline from the incident earlier, but he’s calmed down now and his eyes are still like tunnels to space. “What have you taken?”

“Nothing,” he says. He’s lying and you both know it. “Why, you want some?”

You grab his face, pulling him closer to better examine his eyes under the light.

“That’s it, baby. I love it when you treat me rough,” he says, snaking his arms round you.

“That’s not what this is.”

“It’d be better if it was. For the record, I am _not_ feeling this shitty intervention.”

“I’m trying to help you, dickhead.”

“You know how you could help me,” he leers, pressing against you, letting you feel how hard he is.

You bite your lip. It’s tempting. Now you know how good he can make you feel, how he feels when he’s inside you, the heat and muscle of him, the teasing of his teeth and tongue; all of it comes surging to the surface and in that moment you’d give anything to feel that heady oblivion again.

“Okay,” you mutter, against his neck.

“Yeah?” he says, and you can tell from his voice he wasn’t expecting that.

“But you’re not driving if you’re on drugs,” you tell him.

“You are _not_ driving my bike.”

You roll your eyes and drag him back to the bar, get some ice for his nose from Toni and beg Cheryl for a ride.

“Is this a good idea?”

“I need to get him out of here,” you tell her, and she trades glances with Toni and then gets her keys.

 

Fangs is all over you the minute you’re inside. Rougher than last time, grabbing your jacket collar and using it to drag you over to the couch, where he pulls you down on top of him, kissing you deep, sliding his hands up your dress. It feels good. Like, really, really good. It’s distracting and delicious with that dangerous edge, and it’s such a relief to not feel numb and anxious like you have since Sweets left that you meet Fangs’ energy and hunger with everything you’ve got, wrestling him out of his shirt, peeling your dress off over your head.

“Fogarty, wait,” you say, voice faltering as he gets his mouth round one of your nipples, grazing gently with his teeth.

“I can’t,” he mumbles against your skin. “You drive me crazy.”

“I mean it. Stop.”

He looks up. “What is it, baby?”

“What are we doing?”

Fangs cocks an eyebrow. “Foreplay?”

Cheryl’s words come back to you and you echo them aloud. “Is this a good idea?”

He gives a devilish grin. “Is anything we do?”

He’s got a point. You look into his eyes again. “Are you really fucked up? What did you take?”

“I’m fine,” he growls, tipping you off his lap and pinning you underneath him. “Stop worrying and get the rest of your fucking clothes off.”

“No more drugs, Fangs,” you say, meeting his gaze as he peels down your underwear.

“You wanna lecture me right now or you wanna get fucked?”

“I mean it,” you tell him, your voice catching as he finds where you’re slick and hot.  

“So do I,” he says, and slams his fingers inside you.

 

It’s harder and dirtier than the time before. Neither of you are tentative now. He pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy, palm grinding against your clit and mouth moving between your nipples. You’re gasping his name, trying to tell him to go slower, softer, just for a second, but you can’t get the words out. The pressure builds and you come hard, with a shuddering gush of wetness that has Fangs chuckling as he sucks his fingers clean.

“Knew I could get you to do that,” he snickers, stripping out of his jeans and boxers, grabbing a condom from his wallet and climbing back on top of you.

“Stop congratulating yourself and fuck me.”

“So demanding,” he smirks, sliding his cock back and forth over your swollen clit, forcing a low moan from your lips.

You’re still coming down from your orgasm, hyper-sensitive through the aftershocks, but it’s like something’s been unleashed. This is what you’ve needed all week. This level of sensation, of intensity; an escape from hurt, confusion, fear, loneliness. Everything. You want him so bad you’re wild. You’re giving in, letting desire and desperation swallow you up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you’re using each other, but it’s mutual and consensual and for now that’s enough.

“You ready, baby?”

You bite your lip and nod.

Fangs pushes into you, gripping your hips and pulling them up to meet his so he can drive into you deeper. He holds your gaze, eyes burning into you as he fucks you. Hard, rough, relentless. Almost enough to obliterate thought. Almost.

You pull him closer, deeper inside you, dragging your nails down his back, making him hiss.

Every thrust makes you mewl more and you can feel he’s getting close to coming too. You grab the back of his neck, pull him down to kiss you.

You ride out your orgasm moaning into his mouth, feeling him shudder inside you.

You both pretend not to see each other blinking away tears as your breathing settles back down.

You let him lie there for a minute, face buried in the crook of your neck while you card your fingers through his hair.

“Come to bed,” you murmur into the quiet, sliding out from underneath him.

“Damn, girl,” he says, shifting back to sitting. “You’re insatiable. You gotta give me a minute.”

You lean against your bedroom doorframe and cross your arms. “I meant to sleep. Idiot.”

“Oh. Cool.” A shadow crosses his face, and for a moment you see a chance of getting a sincere answer for once. But he just shrugs and says he’ll follow you in.

 

He’s asleep in your bed by the time you get out of the shower, but when you get in he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like Sweet Pea’s name and hooks an arm around you, holding you tight. You stare at the ceiling for a long time before you fall to sleep.

Fangs leaves before you wake up. The following week, he doesn’t come to school. You’ve got a new set of bruises and sore spots, but after a few days, they start to fade too. You auto-pilot through the days. You realise it’s been weeks since you saw Fangs in daylight.

You text Sweet Pea, but his replies are few and far between. He doesn’t say much about what’s happening there, and you don’t want to worry him, so you keep it light too. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that’s something’s wrong, for him and for you. Everything feels fractured and off-balance. School’s almost done, and you know you won’t make it the entire summer with everything so unsettled.

 

_(Sometimes, you replay that night, with the three of you. Some nights, it’s the only way you can fall asleep, touching yourself while tangled in your sheets and imagining it’s them.)_

 

The following Saturday, you’re back at the Wyrm. _Must be a sucker for punishment_ , you think to yourself, but Toni and Cheryl have borrowed Lodge Lodge for the weekend, and you promised TT you’d cover her shift. A few hours in, Fangs saunters through the doors, but doesn’t clock you behind the bar. You get caught up mixing drinks and - the next time you look over - he’s with some blonde twink you think you might recognise from the Bijou, someone way too baby-faced and innocent for a big bad place like this. And Fangs is looking at him like he’s gonna eat him alive and all of a sudden, something snaps. You’re tired of being tired, sad, worried, and it’s like it’s all alchemised into being furious.

 

You storm over to the corner where Fangs has got blondie backed up against a wall, hauling Fangs away by his jacket collar and getting in Bijou boy’s face. “Get the fuck out.”

He splutters in disbelief. “What?”

“Don’t listen to her,” Fangs snaps.

“You’d better listen,” you say, gesturing towards the door. “Get out. Now.”

He holds his hands up, throws a confused look at Fangs and wanders away muttering.

“What the hell?” Fangs demands, turning to you.

“You’re not fucking him.”

“Why the hell not?”

 

You’ve not got an answer. It sounds insane, even in your head, to say that the idea wounds you like a knife. You can’t explain why. It’s not jealousy, or not just that, anyway. It’s just. They’re yours. Your theirs. Even though they obviously sleep with other people. Even though you do too. There’s something between the three of you, and at the moment that thread feels tattered and too-taut. He shouldn’t be stretching it more. Not for a meaningless one night stand. Not when you feel like you’re losing your mind and you can see he’s struggling too.

 

But you can’t say any of that out loud. So you just sigh and shake your head.

“Fine,” you say, moving back towards the bar. “Fuck him if you want.”

“I will.”

“Maybe I’ll fuck someone too.”

Fangs’ eyes go dark and his hands curl into fists. Victory claws through you. You cock an eyebrow at him and sashay away. There’s nothing else to be said.

 

_How the fuck did it come to this?_

 

He leaves with Bijou boy a few minutes later. He looks back over his shoulder as they go to make sure you’re watching. You give him the finger.

 

You chop lemons and limes behind the bar, fuming. You consider seducing FP (there’s a lot of graffiti about him on the Wyrm toilet walls, and although it looks dated you’re still willing to bet he’s a dirty bastard in bed). But you know it’d probably get back to Jughead, and you can’t deal with having to buy the Serpent Prince a million burgers to say sorry for boning his dad. You assess the other options. None of them even come close to your two favourite Serpents. But these are desperate times.

 

Ten minutes before closing, you’ve discarded the idea, until you see the Ghoulie from the other night, wearing a split lip and a defiant look as he plays pool with a few of his friends.

“Hey you,” you say, as you collect their glasses. “You wanna stay behind? I need some help locking up.”

His eyes drag down your body. “Why should I help you?”

“To make up for the mess you made the other night. And because you know you shouldn’t even be in here. I’ll make it worth your while.”

He smirks into the dregs of his drink and tells his friends he’ll see them back at the House of the Dead.

 

You bolt the doors behind them and he eats your pussy on the pool table. It seems appropriate somehow. You don’t kiss him and you don’t fuck him and once you’ve come you make up an excuse to get him to go. You spend your journey home concentrating hard on not thinking about anything at all. 

 

It’s hours later when you lurch awake, heart hammering until you identify the sound: your trailer door being unlocked. Fangs. The fear ebbs into a sick surge of anger and excitement. This thing between you, it’s gone toxic, but you can’t help yourself. You’re still mad, still hurt, but - despite yourself - you still want him, more than you can properly explain. Missing Sweet Pea is a constant ache and you know Fangs feels it too, even though he doesn’t say. This is the only comfort, for either of you. You need it like a drug.

He crawls into bed, shedding his clothes and fumbling for you in the dark.

“You can’t just keep coming in like this,” you snap, scrabbling to sit up.

He pushes you back down, finds your wrists and pins them in place, sucking onto your neck. “I can.”

“What if I’d had company?”

Still holding your wrists with one hand, the other pushes up your t-shirt, roughly fondling your breasts. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

He kisses you and you bite his lip. “I could have.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he mutters, rubbing you through your underwear, smirking at how wet you already are. “Because now you know how good I can make you feel, no-one else is gonna even come close.”

“So that’s it?” you retaliate. “I’m ruined for everyone else but you’re allowed to fuck anything that moves?”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m still gonna fuck you.” His fingers slide into your underwear and over your slick folds. His other hand grips your wrists tighter, holding you down. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

You should say no. You should tell him to get out. You should tell him you want to go back to just being friends, although you don’t even know if that’s true. Fangs’ eyes gleam in the dark, waiting for an answer.

You buck your hips against his hand, push back against his hold on your arms just for the thrill of feeling him pinning you in place.

“Okay, Fogarty. Show me what you got.” You can’t see his grin but you feel his lips curve against your skin, hear that low dirty chuckle that goes right down your spine.

He fucks you for a long time, pounding into you deep with your legs wrapped round his waist, keeping up a torrent of dirty talk that makes your pussy tighten around his cock, your hands grip his biceps harder. And then he mentions that night. How good you looked, how good you felt, how good the two of you sucked Pea’s cock, how hot it was taking turns to fuck you.

 

When you come it’s like every atom in your body is shattering apart.

 

Fangs comes a few moments later, groaning _oh my fucking god_  into your neck. Afterwards, he nudges your lips with his, kissing you so sweetly that it makes you want to cry. You sniff and he holds you tighter, like he knows all the things neither of you can say. He knows and for now that’s enough. You fall asleep wrapped up in each other. That night, you sleep deep, and by morning you’ve made a decision.

 

“This has got to stop,” you tell him, the next day. He’s making pancakes again, topless in your tiny kitchen, and you’re sitting on the counter in his shirt and your slippers, sipping coffee.

He looks up. “Why?”

“You’re out of control.”

“Me?” he demands, brandishing a spoon. “You clawed me to shreds last night, bitch. Look at my back.” He turns round to show you the marks on his skin.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean this. Us. It’s not good.”

He sucks maple syrup from his fingers and grimaces. “Ouch.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I’m not talking about the sex.”

He turns back to the batter. “I know.”

“So,” you say.

“So,” he echoes, and turns back to face you, sliding a plate across the counter and taking a big breath like he’s finally facing up to having to talk properly. “What are we gonna do?”

You bring a forkful of pancake to your lips and tell him the plan you concocted last night. “We’re gonna go and get Sweet Pea. We help him with whatever’s going on there, then we bring him back here, where he belongs. With us.”

Fangs stares at you like you’ve broken a rule by mentioning Sweets. Then slowly, he starts to smile. “Only if we get to fuck in every motel on the route.”

“I swear to god, Fogarty. I’m serious.”

He grabs you and wrestles you off the counter, getting you in a headlock and planting sticky maple-syrup kisses on your cheeks, more excited than you’ve seen him in weeks.

“So am I,” he says.

 

After breakfast, you send Sweet Pea a message.

_We miss you._

_We love you._

_We’re coming._

You sign off with a snake and a heart. Then Fangs makes more pancakes, and the two of you start planning.

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't mean this to become a series but you were all so lovely about Snakes & Hearts that I couldn't let things for these three end! But it was rough writing these two struggling. So maybe we need a sexy reunion with Sweet Pea next to cheer us all up...?


End file.
